


hands, be still

by minamura



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 10:56:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3247067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minamura/pseuds/minamura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>alistair feels like he's 11 again, sitting in the horse stables. he feels like a child when he wipes his snotty nose and stained cheeks with his sleeve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hands, be still

**Author's Note:**

> IDK WHERE I WAS GOING WITH THIS i guess it's just small snippets that have always been mulling around my head about alistair and his relationship with his wife after the years, please oh god forgive me 4 the terribleness of this

**i.**

He's a husband before a king, he's a king before a warden, and he's a warden before he is just Alistair. He doesn't sit uncomfortably on his throne like he did years ago, he sits with a stronger shoulders and wiser smiles now. It takes a long time before the court decides they like him, it takes a long time for him to even  _like_ himself- but he does, he does when Elissa is sitting there next to him with her hands clasped around his. 

They sit quietly in the garden today, Alistair with his head on her lap as he is splayed upon the bench reading over reports. She idly knits together small flowers, she'd always had an affinity for making flower crowns when they decided to spend their time in the garden. These are the days he is happy to be king. He stops for a moment and looks at her, blonde lashes hovering above her content eyes. She smiles then, "Been watching me this whole time, my King?" 

Alistair hums, his toothy smile growing wider, "I might have been." Their conversation is cut short by the pitter patter of small feet upon the rubble, small children erupting into their peace with loud laughter and the clanking of wooden swords. 

One of them approaches Elissa, her two front teeth missing and eyes that spelled curiosity. "That's really pretty, miss!" She says, her small hands reaching for the flower crown. There's a gentle look in her eyes, then, something bordering the lines of sad. 

"Not as pretty as you are, little princess," Elissa smiles, placing the small crown upon the little girls head. The small child grins, a pink blush spreading over her tiny face- her merry band of friends shout her name and she runs off, struggling to keep the crown on her head as she does so. "Thank you!" the young'un yells back at her.

Elissa is quiet, her eyes are distant. They stay silent before Teagan finds them for dinner, if there's something wrong Alistair does not ask. 

( _he's a coward when it comes to matters of the heart,_ he thinks)

**ii.**

"Let's dance," she beckons him one night. They're in pajamas, the festivities of being the King and Queen of Fereldan long over as the moon settles over the sun. He chuckles then, walking towards her. 

He's learned not to question these things.

When she takes his hands and rests her head across his shoulder, he is content. They move slowly, quietly as she hums a song they overheard two nights ago from a bard in the tavern. Alistair hears the soft rustling of fabric, her breathing, her soft smile against his neck- she is captivating. 

It's this moment that he realizes,  _this is enough_ , that their entire world could be in shambles but if she is there with him it is enough. He knows that it isn't the same for her though, because Elissa has too much righteousness and pride in her blood to sit and let everything she saved burn- he knows this. 

"I love you," she breathes, and its the same i love you as the time they fought the archdemon. 

He makes love to her that night, it's short ( _he's getting old, maker's breath_ ) but sweet, when she smiles it leaves him enthralled.

Although she leaves the next morning he's not surprised, their bed is cold and her crown sits upon the desk side looking very lonely. The only letter she leaves is a note that says  _i'm sorry, i will be back i promise._

**iii.**

It takes him a long time to get used to ruling over a nation without her, it's been 7 months and 9 days- and  _yes_ , he's counting. He tries to be the man they all want him to be, strong- decisive- and maker, he's trying. There's a niche in his chest, and some days it's painfully hollow. 

(the empty bed makes him feel uncomfortable for the first few months) 

(he sleeps in his study for a time before he ever moves back into  _their_ room)

Teagan has long returned to Redcliffe, his new advisor is a young Antivan man albeit with a sharp tongue named Emery. Alistair is thankful for his presence, although harsh at times the young man proves himself to be a valuable asset. Although a bit too curious. They sit across from each other in the private dining room, Emery picking at his empty plate with his fork. 

Alistair folds his hands over the table, "Yeeesss?" 

"Is she," he starts with a odd fumbling. "Is she ever going to come back?" 

The young king had always been a very good eavesdropper, he hears the young maids and the nobles whisper.  _oh, how pitiful! his wife deserted him!_ and it's sorrowful, he supposes. To be known as the pitiful king. 

"We'll have to see, won't we?" he replies. He feels like he has scabs everywhere she has touched- it takes him a long time not to pick at them. He starts believing in the notion that  _time,_ perhaps does heal things the way poultices used to heal him. 

**iv.**

She does return eventually, her homecoming is a quiet event as she slips past his royal guards and knocks on his door. When he opens them, his surprise is countered with an incredulous grin. 

"I hope I came in time to catch the mistress," she jokes halfheartedly, walking towards messy bed and peeling off her armor. He stands in front of her when she looks at him- there's a sharp intake of breath before he crumbles onto his knees and wraps his arms around her waist. His face is muffled between her thighs, he smells pine, the forest, the sea, everything is so foreign. 

There's new scars on her breast, new lines on her face- he's angry, of course he is, it's been almost 2 years and he almost can't remember her voice. 

"You're so selfish," he musters with a voice laden with heartache.

"I know." She run her finger through his hair. "I'm sorry," she says again. She repeats _i know, im sorry_ like a mantra, repeats it enough- enough for the all the time she's been gone. When they fall asleep together, he spends a long time tracing the new markings on her back. 

-

She returns to the court effortlessly as if she hadn't been gone at all. Elissa melts into the tailored dresses and sweet diplomatic talks with such ease that it makes him feel a little jealous. They treat her as if she had returned from a well deserved vacation. He stares at her though, and remembers the empty nights and mugs of ale- and maybe, something within him is still angry. She holds his hand gently, calloused fingers rubbing against his knuckles. They haven't spoken many words since her arrival, only that she asked him to drink a vial that tasted of death and smelled like his wet socks on a really bad day. 

He doesn't know what to say to be exact. 

-

They fall back into their old routines, she makes friends with Emery quicker than he might've thought. They spend many afternoons playing chess against each other, she offers to teach him the game but he refuses. 

"Alistair doesn't want to play because he knows he'll never win against us," Emery laughs, so does Elissa. She smiles at him though, brushes her fingers against his cheek. He flinches, he doesn't know why, and when her eyes widen with concern he excuses himself. 

"I, uh, have some duties to attend." 

(something is churning in his chest) 

**v.**

"Have you come to hate me, Alistair?" she asks him one night in their chambers. She talks like she punches, bruising and hard. 

And he feels it, her burning stare and her incursion makes him choke, a thousand emotions rushing out of his lungs. He doesn't know what to say, _i missed you? i needed you here and you left me? how could you?_ what he manages is, "You abandoned me."

She looks surprised then, he almost relishes in the moment. "I didn't know you felt that way."

Anger built up upon two whole years seem to swamp him."How could you know?" He looks away, for the first time in a long time; Alistair cries. He cries so hard that he has to cover his face.

"What were you thinking? Did you even think about how I was going to feel? Di- did you even think about me at all?"

He feels 11 again, the young boy in the horse stables. He feels like a child when he wipes his snotty nose and his stained cheeks with the sleeves of his shirt. When she wraps her arms around him, he is liquid in her arms as she pats his back like a child. 

"I love you," he mutters against the shell of her ear. "More than this stupid kingdom and crown. More than anything- I have only ever wanted you." 

She kisses his temples, kisses his brow, kisses his cheek. "I needed to find the cure," she explains. "For us, for the wardens, so that we could live on," she cups his cheeks and places their foreheads against each other. "So that you and I could live on." 

Her mouth eases over his, a delicate notion he'd never thought he would have missed so hungrily. 

-

They slowly regain the complacency of their relationship over the few months, he slowly begins to forgive her and she begins to have more life in her eyes. She always wakes up early with the dawn, there's reasoning to this: a habit that she'd never let go of since the blight.  The morning is crisp and the sun is bright, but it's a different kind of morning because she feels sick in her stomach- she ends up puking on their floor. 

Alistair wakes up with such concern, he balks at the new recruit to get a healer in his smalls. 

When the small elf arrives, she is jaunted by the King and Queen's appearance- her crouching over the floor and Alistair stroking her back. After a considerable time, the elf, Saria- her name- smiles at her. The confusion on Alistair's face is kind of funny. 

Saria lifts her hand and places them over her belly, "A child." 

Alistair looks at her dumbfoundly as she instantaneously turns her head towards him. "Mine?" he whispers cautiously towards her.

"No, it's Emery's," she deadpans and slaps his biceps. "Of course it's yours!"

When he takes her into his arms and lifts her from the ground, her feet dangling in the air, sanguine blooms all over her flesh.

**vi.**

They've taken four steps backwards, then five steps forward- she stares at Alistair and holds his hand with a nervous clutch- and oh _maker_ he smiles that signature smile that makes her weak to the knees. Her stomach is plump, large, but Alistair looks at her like she's the world and he holds her with such pride that she feels like she's 16 again.

Some days she's unsure if she can do it, be the Queen everyone wants her to be, but he sits across from her and like she is the only thing that matters- he smiles at her, and for some strange reason everything that plagues her seems to stream away. They're not done their duties, not yet, the world is still a barren land of past mistakes and there are things to be done but when Alistair asks her: 

"Are you happy?" 

she says  _yes,  yes yes yes_ like it's a chant. 

 


End file.
